


Sweetheart, Are you tired?

by SleepingwithWolves



Series: The distance keeps us safe [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jonsa drabble event, Ned stark mentioned - Freeform, Wargs & Warging (A Song of Ice and Fire), bookverse, wolf dreams sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingwithWolves/pseuds/SleepingwithWolves
Summary: "What was I doing?" He asks her once and she can't remember much besides him being scared as she lets him know. Her memories of those dreams are like holding water in the palm of her hands. Slowly, it drips and she forgets. But her hand is wet still. Most parts of it, she can remember. Like a curtain lifted upwards by a slow and steady hand ever since she first arrived at the wall.There's magic in the walls, older, stronger, she was told once. It touches you and your blood.It reaches out.-Written for Jonsa new year drabble event. Day 1: Dreams
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Ned Stark & Sansa Stark
Series: The distance keeps us safe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124102
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44
Collections: Jonsa New Year Drabbles





	Sweetheart, Are you tired?

She saw him in her dreams. 

Those dreams aren't good dreams - not really - they're not like the bad ones either. The ones which leave her shaking and wishing she could stomp out the last remnants of them from her memory. 

They were- well - just dreams. Normal, bare, and empty. 

"What was I doing?" He asks her once and she can't remember much besides him being scared as she lets him know. Her memories of those dreams are like holding water in the palm of her hands. Slowly, it drips and she forgets. But her hand is wet still. Most parts of it, she can remember. Like a curtain lifted upwards by a slow and steady hand ever since she first arrived at the wall. 

There's magic in the walls, older, stronger, she was told once. _It touches you and your blood_.

 _It reaches out_. 

She remembers finding him, the face of a child, sobbing in the warm lights of the crypts as she would wander around thinking how had she ever been scared of a place as comforting as this? It is a nightmare for him, she concludes somehow, one she saw him living through. Even though the thought of sharing the same dream and being able to see the other in it was so ludicrous that she had to laugh. 

Yet, it is a dream in what she believes. That her brothers, and sister are out somewhere lost still. She had stood at the edge when she heard Bran's voice. Saw his face, a hand stretched out. Beckoning her to listen. _Stay_ , he said, older than he ever got the chance to be, _stay alive please I need my sister_. It is through a dream that she talks to him sometimes. She can't remember a word.

But she remembers Bran's laugh at a joke.

Remembers the little stubble growing around his chin. 

So when Jon mentions a sad dire wolf with a gash across her neck staying by his side who helped, Sansa thinks, _oh. No problem. I'll try to help more next time_. 

She is true to a certain extent. It was her. It was Lady. There's no difference. _Was there ever_? 

The next time she's in Winterfell, not the empty carcass it has been left behind as the war had left her. Left Jon. (They are ghost numb to all except one another) but with all its walls, new and high, no burned marks, and soft drums and strings humming in the air, she moves to the crypts fast instead of staying doused in the warm waters of the hot spring. It strikes her how natural she feels, moving from with four feet. 

~~(It strikes her how real Father's knife feels in her throat when she wakes)~~

And she finds him as he is always, screaming out dead names with a torch in hand and so pale and afraid of what is further ahead. 

There's nothing to be afraid of. It won't hurt you. 

Words are what she can not say. 

He buries his face in her. Fingers digging into her skin and she breathes and huffs white puffs of breath as she sits and lets him lean against her. Let him rest. 

"I don't belong here," he mumbles. The shadows have stopped their dance. _Yes, you do with me_. The music is out and the feast is over, she is sleepy. The world pulls her back. "They don't like it when I come. They like you and stay silent when you're here." 

She does not understand. 

He presses a hand against her gash. The wound still bleeds, is still fresh and it has left a red stain spreading on his shirt wetting the dried blood already there from the daggers that had killed him, like fresh blood spreading on an old wrinkled and stained bedsheet. "Who hurt you?" He asks softly. 

She closes her eyes, sees a man with his face and soft lines who smelled like home and felt safe, and she bares her teeth to him, her mouth tasting betrayal as her eyes blur with tears. 

"I understand." He rubs his hand on her head, rubs her eyes and ears whispering sweet words. " I'm here because of my brothers too. I trusted them. They killed me." 

_I know_ , she nibs his hand away. _I love him still_ , Sansa thinks, _even though his blade hurts me always_. 

"Tell me," he says at the end, "What are you afraid of?" 

Sansa blinks softly, her bones are cold and the fire is out. She is exhausted. Her mouth tastes like iron and when she moves, her body feels unfamiliar. _Of being scared and alone._ She remembers her answer. _Of Being a helpless child_. 

She had known it in her bones with a clarity she rarely ever thought she would have. 

She wants to stay in bed. To close her eyes and pretend and sleep. Already the memories of her time with child Jon and the feel of being in Lady's skin, dead as her wolf is, is slipping away from her mind. But she needs to get up. There is work to do. 

And so she does. 

Jon does not speak much. 

He's silent like Ghost. Sometimes, people think him mute too before he says a remake, scathing most times, and those people are too busy jolting at his voice to notice their own disrespect. 

He needs to change, Sansa knows. 

But she likes it still selfishly, for he always talks to her most. Knowing how Jon had once confessed how difficult it is to find the words needed, to speak for him. It's enough. Sansa is content. (yet there is an inch resting under the skin. What he gives is not enough. She wants more of him than she could ever bring herself to say. It is the greedy nature of a starving beast.) 

So it is a surprise when he asks her to stay behind to talk in his solar. The rest of the lords leave, curious glances thrown their way. She masks her confusion. They share solars. Rooms are utilized elsewhere for storage and hosting so there are several hours they, the maester, and others share in the same room, working together on their separate duties. But for it to be important enough to call her out like this in front of everyone else? It's unique if nothing else. 

She has work to do, things to expect. It is a relief for a second that she could sit and wait and maybe rest while he gathers his words. She waits. Waits as he stands and leans on the table in front of her, his stretched leg brushing against her thigh. In this light, it's hard to remember he has gray eyes. They are dark, almost black, and focused on her in a way that almost makes Sansa shiver. 

She can't hide her jolt when he brushes the back of his hand against her neck. "Cold?" Sansa nods. He moves her braid behind, and then the few tendrils of hair that had escaped from it. His breath fans her face. 

He looks devastated. 

"Jon?" 

"You look tired." He mumbles, that look was gone and Sansa almost laughs. She presses a finger underneath his sunken eyes and jabs at it. 

"You can't say anything to me." She teases. 

He grabs her hand and pulls her up to him. "I don't want you to get sick." He tells her, moving the hand on her neck up and tracing a line with his thumb on her cheek.

" Well, I won't. I'm fine." She smiles to make a point." I'm more worried about you." He grins at her. " You can't stop yourself can you?" 

"Don't tease." 

His gaze softens and Sansa steps back away from him. 

In the years that have gone by, nothing has quite the ability to disarm her completely like gentleness. 

And Jon? Every time he slumps his shoulders down, relaxes the lines above his forehead and the hard features of him, the scars and that set of jaws, they blur while his gaze softens as he looks at her? Sansa feels the goosebumps on her neck, panic pooling in her stomach and Sansa needs to run. 

"I should go. I've stayed long enough. My invitations for a lady in waiting have been reciprocated so -" 

"Sansa." 

" - I have to - Hmm?" 

Jon lets out a sigh. "I thought you'd be - that it was me you were - " he looks away, then again at her. His shifting eyes confuse her. " You don't have to be afraid." He settles on finally. 

She shakes her head."I don't-" 

"You're not alone. Not when I'm with you. " 

Wood crackles from the fire. The sound of it jolts her. Her nails dug deep in her palms. "Is that so." She mumbles and he nods. "Why do you think that?" 

He walks to her, only a step or two, and Sansa stays rooted at her spot, looking up at his figure from underneath her lashes. 

"I know." 

"Know-how?" 

" I have touched your soul," he says, he raises his hand as he traces a line by her throat. It takes her a moment to understand. "as you have touched mine. We fill the gaps in ourselves, complete each other as we are."

Sansa shakes her head. There's a lump in her throat. "That's not how it works." 

He leans down and kisses her neck. It is the first time he has ever done something like this. His lips press where Father's blade had cut through Lady. _Open bleeding wound_ , she remembers, _the taste of betrayal and anger_. 

"Does it matter?" He moves his head away, hand still pressed against her arm. 

Sansa pats his cheeks. Pushes back the tears. _I need to go_ , she thinks but she holds his hand, the one scarred, burned one. There are too many scars she knows for her to choose between. Jon was right. She can't stop herself. She kisses the inside of it. Presses it against her forehead. 

" I suppose no." She says before she leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> SOOOOOOOOooo, writing this was fun. kudos and comments will be much appreciated. Also, i wrote it on my phone so sorry if find any mistakes.


End file.
